Steele Playing Games
by Amy S
Summary: The game is Scrabble.


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Steele Playing Games

A Remington Steele Story

by AMY STONE

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Disclaimer

This story is not in any way associated with the owners of Remington Steele. The characters, except for those I invented for the story, are not owned by me (but I can wish), and the story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. It is meant as fan fiction and is purely for entertainment.

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Laura Holt stood in front of her closet and sighed. Another four-star restaurant on the horizon. Black? Red?

She went for black.

It was funny, she thought. She had never doubted the existence of the perfect little black dress, yet, now that she had found it, she was surprised it had not been swallowed up and sent to oblivion by the rest of her wardrobe.

She selected shoes and earrings. An ankle-length coat over something this short, she thought, but not in black. Grey.

She was rummaging for a necklace when he knocked.

"Good evening, Laura."

"Hi," she said, handing him the necklace and turning away from him.

Without a word, he draped it around her neck and fastened the clasp.

It was funny, he thought. Of all the women he had known, Laura was the only one for which he had ever done this little favor. He enjoyed it.

"New dress?" he asked, admiring it as she turned back to him.

"Yup." She knew he would notice.

"Stunning."

"Thank you."

Then she noticed his attire. Even dressed casually, he still looked dressed up, but it was not right for La Petite Maison.

"It seems a shame to waste that dress," he began, "but I thought you might prefer to stay in tonight."

Bingo, she thought. She could smell pizza through her open door and wondered which of her neighbors ordered it.

"Mildred told me. You should have said something when I asked you to dinner."

"You might have gotten the wrong impression if I'd said I wanted a quiet evening alone."

How should he say this? Hope springs eternal? You would have set me straight? It wouldn't be the first time?

"Perhaps," he said.

She hesitated at the door. He hadn't come inside yet, but she wanted to block out the pizza's wonderful scent. It was making her hungry.

"So, what did you have in mind?" Laura asked.

He held up one finger, signaling her to wait. He ducked behind the door and picked up two boxes.

"Pizza and Scrabble?" She beamed with delight. She spent a moment trying to remember why she kept him at arm's length, figuratively anyway. "I'm good, you know. Dorm champion two years in a row."

"That sounds like a challenge," he called after her as she went to change. "Care to make a little friendly wager, Laura?"

She thought about the question as she pulled on jeans and a t-shirt. She screwed up her face at her image in the mirror and traded the t-shirt for a silk blouse. She left three buttons undone without even thinking and left the necklace on.

"You wouldn't try to hustle me, would you?"

He did not answer right away. He caught a glimpse of skin as she breezed by him into the kitchen. She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of wine.

He took a breath, then found two glasses in the cupboard. He fished through the drawer beneath for a corkscrew.

She repeated her question as he opened the bottle and poured.

"Of course not," he relented, as they took the wine, pizza, and game box across to her sofa.

As they set up the game on the coffee table and settled in on the floor around it, he told the story.

"The Sultan of Murat and I used to have a go whenever I was in the neighborhood. It was the desert, you know"

She interrupted, "Where's Murat?"

He thought for a second.

"I'm not sure it even exists anymore, but it was a country about the size of Rhode Island in North Africa."

"Oh. Never heard of it."

"Not many have. It was the desert," he continued, "so we'd work in words like camel, oasis, and so on. Once," he chuckled at the memory, "I played heat' and he added, but it's a dry' to it."

"But that's illegal." She quickly counted, ticking off the letters on her fingers. "And you only get seven letters at a time."

"After a few rounds of homemade liquor from the Sultan's still, the rules do start to get a bit hazy."

She smiled and nodded.

"So," he said, "how about that wager?"

"If I win, you do all the office paperwork for a week."

"How did I know you'd say that?" He gave her a sly grin and said, "And if I win, you play hooky with me on Monday."

"How did I know you'd say that?" she teased, giving him a quick kiss. She still couldn't remember her reason. "It's a bet."

Laura tried not to get pizza on the tiles. She drew her first seven tiles, considered them, and thought a little pizza sauce could do nothing but improve them.

"Tough letters?" he jibed as he drew his own. "It's a good thing we aren't playing poker."

She was flabbergasted by her rotten luck and thrust her tile rack at him.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

He laughed at her outburst, but quickly realized it was justified. She had drawn QZJXCIE.

She shrugged and played ICE on the center star, wondering as she wrote down her score if it was worth it to do so.

He considered his possible plays as she drew new tiles. She gritted her teeth at his expression.

"Sorry, Laura," he said insincerely as he dumped his tile rack over and began pushing letters around the board.

She watched the word form around her pathetic play. LICENTIOUS. Apt, she thought. He knew she caught his meaning.

"Eighty-nine," he said simply.

She noted the score on the pad and said, "This means war."

Half a bottle of wine later, she had moved around to his side of the coffee table. They could not see each other's letters and were still competing, but lulls in the game had gotten interesting. She had to disentangle herself before taking her turn.

The wine had not impaired Laura's vocabulary.

"What's XERIC?" he asked.

"Are you challenging my play?"

"No," he answered, refilling their glasses. "I know it's a word; I just don't know what it means."

She waved off the proffered glass and ran her finger down his chest. Four buttons, she noted.

"It means adapted to arid conditions'," she told him as she toyed with that fifth button.

She watched his eyes.

"Kind of beats but it's a dry heat', doesn't it?"

She felt his breathing get heavier.

"It sure does," he said as she undid his button.

"Only six points, but it is a nice word."

"What?"

She wasn't watching the board; her mind was elsewhere.

"Yes."

"'Yes' what?"

She looked at the board.

"Oh."

"Don't you think?"

"What?"

"That it's a nice word?"

Laura glanced at the empty wine bottle and put her head back on his chest.

"Uh-huh."

He stroked her hair as she drifted off.

Two hours later, Laura awoke to find her loft awash in candlelight. The pizza box was gone, their glasses were drying on a towel by the sink, and the gameboard was laid out exactly as she remembered it. She was on the couch, covered in a blanket. Where was he?

She sat up and looked around. He was sitting in front of a short bookshelf up the few steps to her bedroom. His back was against the bed, and as far as she could tell he was reading. She got up and went to him.

"That better not be a dictionary. We've got a wager to settle."

He looked embarrassed, and she soon saw why. He was about halfway through one of her trashier romance novels.

"You've got quite a library here."

It was her turn to look embarrassed. She knew that bookshelf contained about fifty of the things. And all well read, too.

"They pass the time," she offered as explanation.

"Apparently."

He flipped backwards through the pages until he reached one that was dog-eared. She cringed as he read a passage aloud.

"We've done that," he said. "There are at least four more books here with pages marked like that, and all sound familiar."

What was she going to tell him? That she chose which novels to keep and which to trade in at the used bookstore up the street based on him? She might as well tell him about the picture she kept in her file cabinet.

When he realized she wasn't going to say anything, he pulled another book off the shelf and handed it to her. She saw the title and her eyes went wide.

"Page 114," she whispered.

"About a year ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

She thought back to that day. If he had been any more of a gentleman and she had been able to get those excuses out of her head

"It's your play, Laura."

What? Oh, the game, she realized. But, then again, maybe he wasn't referring to Scrabble.

Shut up and kiss me, she thought. He shocked her by doing just that.

SABOTAGE. What would be more apropos when playing with a detective?

"Two double word scores, plus fifty for using all my letters." He added apologetically, "You did give me a few hours to think."

"At least the weather's supposed to be nice on Monday"

He smiled, thinking she had nothing left to play.

He was wrong.

As she played JAVELIN, she continued, "but that shouldn't distract you from your paperwork."

He still smiled.

"What's the final score, Laura?"

"I've got you by twenty-two points."

"Best two out of three?"

"It's four a.m."

He nodded. The game had gone on, but now they were tucked under a blanket on the sofa with the coffee table pulled up next to them. Laura had explained that her thermostat was on a timer and that she could turn it up, but she was still having trouble remembering those reasons and instead used him for heat. He did not seem to mind.

"I'd better head home," he said, looking around on the floor for his shoes without moving her.

He called his apartment home,' she thought. Am I reading into this and just happened to notice his choice of words? Does he always say that? Those silly reasons were slipping farther away.

When she did not get up, he said, "Or I could stay right here."

He made no advance. Laura told him to stay.

Laura breezed into the office at nine o'clock sharp.

"Good morning, Miss Holt," Mildred said with a knowing tone.

"Good morning," she returned, unsure what Mildred knew or suspected. She entered her office, put down her purse, and went through the connecting door to see if he was in.

He was standing among piles of buff folders, one in each hand, trying to decide which pile to put them in. His desk was laden with loose sheets of paper, as yet unfiled. He glanced upward.

"Good morning, Laura." He looked at the files in his hands. "I have no idea where these go."

She chuckled and extended her hand. He gave her the folders.

As she looked at the labeled tabs of the folders on the floor, he circled around behind his desk, pausing on the way by to whisper in her ear.

She gave him an odd look. He gave a small shrug and she shot into her office. He snuck a gleeful smile when she was out of sight.

Laura returned, unwrapping a small package. He shuffled papers and re-piled a few things.

"_Pirate Lust_?"

He tried desperately not to smile.

"You know, Laura," he deadpanned, "you won fair and square and I'm happy to make good on the bet, but if you want it done correctly, you're going to have to give me a hand."

She flipped through the book as he spoke. A small photograph fluttered from between the pages. She bent to pick it up. She gasped when she saw it and realized where he had gotten all these file folders.

He said nothing; he handed her a sheaf of paper.

She hesitated, then reluctantly put the book down, knowing she would have to wait all day until she could read it. He would make sure of that.

"Page 206," he said conspiratorially as he carried a stack of files to the cabinet in Laura's office. "And I'd like a rematch."

THE END


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